Page 165 of Fractured Fate

“What brings you out here, child?”

She shrieked, spinning on her feet, and almost falling when her flip-flop caught on the edge of the cobblestone.

A few feet away from her on the path stood a woman with hair as black as night shot through with silver strands pulled tight in a bun at her nape, dressed in a long dark robe with glimmering chains. Charlotte couldn’t make out many details with the limited lighting at the back of the academy, but the robes had some sort of design along the bottom, hood, and draped sleeves.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Straightening, she smoothed her hands over the front of Aiden’s T-shirt to give her something to do while she composed herself. “I’m fine. Um.” She looked around the empty path and the darkened forest behind her. “Can I help you?” She didn’t want to be rude, but even with a school full of fanged students, someone wandering around at night in robes seemed weird.

“Maybe not, but you might be able to help me.” The faceted jewels at the ends of the chains around the woman’s waist glittered red when the moonlight caught them as she walked past Charlotte over to the edge of the forest, looking into the shadowed depths. “You know only the peak of the iceberg of secrets in our world. In order for you to understand your place here, you need to know the truth.”

“Who are you?”

“I am called the Oracle.”

Charlotte angled her head to the side, trying to get a better look at the woman’s face. The age lines discernable by moonlight and gray in her hair said she was maybe fifty or sixty, but she was supposedly hundreds of years old. It wasn’t that Charlotte didn’t believe the headmistress when she had explained how Vasirian aged, it simply seemed too unreal at the time, even with her claim of being in her seventies. Seeing a living person as old as the Oracle helped solidify the reality of it all.

“You are aware of the Blood War, but not everything.”

“The Blood War?”

“A time when our king’s great-grandfather Rosendo Blackthorn ordered the execution of every witch, warlock, and pregnant Vasirian woman to prevent their powers from growing or their children overtaking the Blackthorn bloodline.”

She knew it by description, but not by name, and not in that much detail.

“The humans with magical blood knew of our existence then. We lived in harmony together and found our Korrena pairs among them. The severance of power when Rosendo sought to destroy the bloodlines resulted in many of my kind no longer being able to find the one destined for them. As you know, Blaire is the key to restoring that bloodline.”

“How do you know what I know?”

“Because, child, I know and see many things.” The Oracle smiled over her shoulder the way a mother would when indulging her child. “I’ve also been kept up to date through Dominic and your headmistress.”

Charlotte curled her fingers around the bottom of Aiden’s T-shirt. “So when Blaire becomes a Vasirian like you, everyone will find their Korrena again?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

“The magic that lives in her blood—the blood of a witch—will spread upon her awakening, rousing dormant magic in those like you. The magic that keeps the Vasirian strong and alive will strengthen. As it is, we grow weaker with every year that passes.”

The Oracle turned fully to face Charlotte.

“If Blaire doesn’t become a Vasirian, our future dies with her. Not only do we not find our pairs, but our preternatural abilities will fade away, reducing our lifespans to that of a human. Without magic, those older—like myself—will become dust.”

Charlotte gasped.

The Oracle shrugged. “Human organs cannot survive hundreds of years. It is only natural it would happen.”

“That’s awful.”

“This is true. It is a terrible fate, but one we might face. I foresee mass hysteria arising among humans who witness those they work alongside aging at an alarming rate as their bodies catch up with their organs. The ripple effect across the world will be devastating.”

Charlotte curled her toes against her flip-flops. The thought of people around her small town withering away and dying in minutes sounded terrifying. She didn’t want to imagine people with friends and coworkers witnessing that. She couldn’t picture the headmistress as an old woman.

“With our preternatural abilities gone, we then become susceptible to human ailments without the ability to heal. There will be no children born when our reproductive functions fail without the magic that keeps us existing. But none of that will matter to most of us when the time comes.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

How could the Oracle say it didn’t matter if their kind didn’t have children anymore?